Park Bench
by thegreekarmygoesmeow
Summary: The park had always been special to Antonio and Lovino. Sometimes there are memories made...others are remembered. (WARNING: This was written for a Creative Writing class so no swearing. Also, chapter 2 is meant to be an ALTERNATE version, not a continutation. IT IS SAD. 1 Fluffy, 2 sobby)
1. Chapter 1

Park Bench

"Oh how cute!"

"What a darling boy your brother is, Lovino you should be more like him."

"He's a natural at playing the violin!"

"His food is absolutely amazing!"

My fists clenched in the soapy water as I was (trying) to do the dishes without breaking anything. Sure, it was the middle of January, but we'd experienced a recent warm snap; sun out, upper sixties, birds flipping singing in the flipping trees –the whole schizwiz. (Shush, it's totally a word regardless of what the jerkface Merriam-Webster says–don't you judge me!)

But I digress…

Anyways, my _precious_ baby brother had made the most of the new-found glorious weather of freaking _doom_ and was currently in our back yard, playing violin and just generally making the neighbors fall in love with him. I grit my teeth, rinsing the last of the annoyingly clingy (and oh so very _Feliciano-like_) bubbles from my arms. I cast my eyes out the window back at my idiotic little brother and our doting grandfather before giving a (not at all dainty) snort and deciding I no longer wished to listen to Feliciano's (admittedly _beautiful_) music.

I grabbed my wallet and phone before exiting the house and ambling down the street towards the park. (N-Not that there was any specific reason or person or anything that I may or may not have wanted to see there –nope!) I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I neared the pond where there should be ducks but instead one could be found being freaking chased by a mob of horrible, evil, hissing _geese_. (Those things are flipping out to destroy humanity –mark my words!) Anywho, a small crowd had gathered around one of the benches. From somewhere in the graceless mass of humans came the warm, ridiculously happy (but..n-nice) strains of Spanish guitar. I drew closer, unafraid of the angry huffs and occasional soccer-mom glares of _death and devastation_ (alright, so maybe _those_ were just a _little _completely and utterly terrifying in every way, shape, and form.) that I received along the way.

By the time I had made it to the front of the crowd, the music was much faster, louder, and more urgent than it had been. I had a half-minute with some 12.9 year-old Facebook addict with way to much making and way too little clothing before the song drew to a close and the audience burst into applause. I smirked quickly when 12.9 blinked and watched the crowd disperse before I slid onto the green bench beside the street performer.

"Lovi! You came!" He said, giving me that same stupid grin I'd known since I was three.

"Are you ever going to call me by my actual name or…?" I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"Probably not, no." He laughed.

"I hate you."

"No you don't"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you wouldn't be here with me!"

"…Touché."

"What's that mean, Lovi."

I groaned, forehead meeting my palm. The idiot just stared at me (rather creepily) with that same dumb grin that made his emerald eyes twinkle more than usual. The man practically _radiated_ freaking _happiness_ and _rainbows_.

"You're an annoying jerk, you know that?"

"Ay, Lovi you're so cruel!"

"Dang it, Antonio! We've known each other how long and you're just figuring that out?"

"It's been fifteen years, six months, eleven days and…um…oh! and nine hours!" he grinned stupidly at me while I gaped like a (very intelligent and handsome) fish.

"….That's freaking creepy, Antonio."

"No it isn't!"

"You remembered to the hour, yes it is."

He simply pouted at me like some over-grown toddler before I eventually gave a huff and turned away. He chuckled and set down his poor, beaten old guitar and took on a much more serious tone.

"Lovino…" oh crap, what did I do?

"…What?"

He didn't really respond, he just looked away and slid a relatively small grey box along the two feet of space or so between us on the bench and into my waiting hand. I frowned, flipping the box open and looking inside.

A few pieces of paper were folded neatly on top. I opened them and looked from the idiot to the papers and back, confusion contorting my features back into Fish Man.

"Wh-What is this?!"

"I finally saved enough money up to go home to Spain. Things are a lot..._more accepting_ there now[1]." He looked over at me and nodded to the box.

I drew the papers back and gaped.

A very small, simple band was nestled into the bottom of the box. My cheeks began to heat up and I looked to the Spaniard for answers.

"I've told you I hate staying so secretive…Look, you don't have to answer but the time of the flight is on the ticket s-so…_adios._" He said, collecting his guitar and quickly retreating.

Of course he didn't wait for a response –he didn't need to. He knew that. Hell, _I_ knew that. I knew that come tomorrow my little brother would come bouncing into my room and all he'd find of me would be an empty grey box.

* * *

[1] In July of 2005, Spain legalized same-sex marriage


	2. Chapter 2 (Bring on the fucking angst)

Park Bench (Version 2)

Cold and wet, gloomy clouds hung over normally bright sky. I sloshed the water around in the sink, washing the last of dinner off the plates while my annoying little brother sat in the living room tuning his violin to a somber tone.

I growled under my breath, finishing my job and quickly grabbed my raincoat, rushing out of the house and away from the oppressive atmosphere, slamming the door shut behind me. I shoved my hands into my pockets, trying my best to ignore the recently crappy weather. I didn't really know where I was going until I found m self almost running into the gates of the deserted local park. My muscles tensed up as I made my way along the dully glinting pats.

The duck pond was oddly empty, but the soft strains of a Spanish guitar reached my ears over the annoying pitter-patter of rain. Something warm swelled in my chest as I stumbled towards the sound.

But there was no music.

There was no bright smile.

Nor were there shinning green eyes.

There was no stupid, laughing Spaniard with his old, beat up guitar.

There was only the old, fading park bench in a dim, dull, empty park. I allowed my hand to reach out, fingers trailing along the chipping paint that had once been green. Light from the streetlamp just a few yards away caught the small metal band on my finger, making it glint with a mocking little light. The cold bite of the metal was enough to force me to shrink back, clutching the ice cold hand do my chest. I glared at the ugly bronze plate that had been screwed into the back of the bench, eyes starting to sting.

_"In loving memory of Antonio Fernández-Carriedo, hit and killed by a drunk driver at age twenty –two. His warmth and music will be forever missed."_

Fifteen years, six months, eleven days, and nine hours –that's how long I had you.

And never once did I tell you…

'Idiot..I love you too.'

I'm sorry it took fifteen years, six months, and twelve days for me to figure that out.


End file.
